Cold Comfort
by niagaraweasel
Summary: Chance, Ilsa and a pretty bad cold. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

**A/N: for cedricsowner, just because... **

Cold Comfort

Chance felt like he was being roasted alive. Waves of heat were pulsing against his skin, creeping from his toes all the way up to his face. Any minute now he'd burst into flames. There was only one thing to do. Mustering up his courage, he took a deep, painful breath and tried flapping the edge of his blanket.

Immediately a soft clicking noise from somewhere to the right of him that he had barely registered before stopped and just like that the suffocating heat was gone. The clicking noise resumed, but he was much too busy reveling in the soothing feeling of cool air flowing across his heated skin to be concerned about what it was. The fresh breeze seeped into his flesh, slid around his aching muscles and settled into his bones.

All too soon, however, he began to shiver. The refreshing coolness turned into an almost painful chill, as if he had been taken out of the scorching desert, only to be dropped naked into an Arctic blizzard. He burrowed around with his feet, trying to find the warmth he remembered from just minutes ago, but it seemed to have vanished. A small puff of air escaped his lips, carrying a tiny sound with it that might uncharitably be called a moan.

The clicking stopped again and suddenly the wonderful warmth enveloped him once more. With a happy little sound he snuggled down into it again. A gentle chuckle followed his actions and he cracked open an eye to find the source of it.

Ilsa had dragged the old armchair over so that it was now standing right beside his bed. She had an open laptop balanced on her knees and managed to make the whole thing look a lot less uncomfortable than it probably was.

Chance hmphed in satisfaction at having found the source of the strange clicking and as he did, noticed that his scratchy throat had the consistency of the Sahara. He tried clearing his throat to get rid of the feeling. Owwww…. could that have hurt any more? A cough erupted, raking over his abused tissues like razor blades. And another and another, each one forcing barbed-wire breaths from his lungs until he thought it would never end. It was exhausting. So much that, when he'd finally managed to catch his breath, he might have made that tiny, not-quite-moaning sound again. Purely unintentionally of course…

The clicking once again stopped, he heard clinking and then something icy cold was pushed against his lips. He opened them gladly, allowing the ice chip into his parched mouth and let the soothing cold liquid melt on his tongue before it trickled down his aching throat. All too soon it was gone. He licked his lips, searching for more of the chilled relief. Perhaps his lower lip stuck out just a little in anticipation and another ice chip was offered. He smiled in satisfaction – and noticed something else. He pursed his lips a little and then licked them several times, feeling the cracked texture of skin left too long without enough moisture. But for all his licking the dry feeling remained. He pursed his lips once more and sighed wistfully, hoping they wouldn't crack too badly…

"Hold still…"

A small popping sound and something slick and waxy was smoothed over his parched lips. First the top lip, then the bottom, then the corners. Good, the corners hurt worst of all when they cracked.

Suddenly his nose started tickling. He sniffed. It still tickled. He tried wriggling it. His eyes began tearing up and he squeezed them shut. Tingles shot through his sinuses and he couldn't hold it back any longer.

"Aaachooo!"

Hell, that had hurt! It felt like his brain was imploding. And someone must have shoved a nail into his eyes when he jerked through the sneeze. He was certain death was just around the corner.

"That's pretty disgusting, Mr. Chance."

What was it with that horrible shouting? Since when had Ilsa's voice acquired that fingernails-on-chalkboard tone? God, his head was about to explode…He gusted out a sigh, perhaps causing another tiny noise.

"Oh, for….Here, take this." Something soft was thrust into his hands.

"Blow."

He lifted the soft tissues to his nose and sucked in a huge breath to do the job properly. Oh….quite a lot there…. perhaps he'd need more tissues…

"Oh, ew….Good heavens, Mr. Chance…. Here…"

More tissues appeared in his hands. He blew again. When he was through, he let his hands fall limply to his side.

"I think it's time for your medicine. Are you ready for it?"

Medicine. He remembered medicine. And not the good kind either, the one that was practically painless, injected into a vein and off to la-la-land. This medicine was nothing like that. It was thick and syrupy, coating his tongue and slipping between his teeth so that he could still taste it long afterwards. It tasted like cherries – and definitely *not* the good kind. And the metal spoon it came on clinked against his teeth in a way he didn't like.

He growled his displeasure and turned his head away, only to have it gently but firmly turned back and he was pulled up a little from his comfy position. He scrunched up his nose and turned down his mouth in protest. All he got for his effort was a ladylike snort halfway between exasperation and amusement and the clink of a glass bottle against the dreaded metal spoon. He tried to lie back down but a warm body got in his way. All he managed to do was lean his head against a soft shoulder. He hadn't been able to smell very much in what seemed like forever, but he imagined he could smell the horrible cherries as they came closer to his mouth.

"Come on, open your mouth."

The dreaded spoon touched his lips and he squeezed them tightly together. Ha! See if you can get…it…in… Wow, he really couldn't breathe through his nose at all, could he? He had to open his mouth to suck in a breath and the cherries from hell invaded. He tried to thrash left and right, gave a protesting growl that even he had to admit sounded a little like mewling and was determined to return the vile stuff back to the spoon when….

"If you spit that back at me, Mr. Chance, I will just have to find a much more unpleasant way to get the rest of it into you."

God, Ilsa was definitely spending way too much time around Guerrero. He had no doubt that she would carry out her threat. He changed his mind and swallowed. And swallowed. He couldn't get that nasty taste out of his mouth.

The sound of liquid sloshing from a container made his mouth water, which only served to swish around the cherries. He was about to sigh pathetically when the rim of a glass was placed against his bottom lip. Distrustfully he waited until the cool liquid inside the glass had touched his lips and he had made sure it was just water, not more cherry goo, before taking a few small sips. More swallowing. God, that hurt. He grimaced.

"Open your mouth again."

He didn't trust it. He didn't trust *her*. After all the first "open" had been followed by liquid death. But then, the second had yielded much more pleasurable results. Finally he complied.

"A little wider, please."

Something icy cool and menthol-y misted over his tongue and his abused throat again and again. This time he definitely did moan, as the pain receded for a time. He licked his lips again. Hmmm… the tissue seemed to have wiped the chapstick off his lips again, somehow making them feel even worse than before. His lower lip wobbled sadly. He supposed he'd just have to get used to cracked and painful….

Oh, there was more of that waxy slickness being smoothed over his desert-dry lips. Now, if only his head would stop aching….

Scrunching up his eyes, he tried to raise his hand to rub at his temple, only to find his fingers intercepted and gently tucked back under the blanket. The pleasant, sharp scent of peppermint oil penetrated even through his stuffy nose, followed by the welcome feeling of Ilsa's gentle fingers rubbing soothing circles on his forehead and temples.

"There. All better now?"

Actually, there was one more thing….

Chance hated how empty he felt when he was sick. Like no one cared, like he was all alone. He poked his hand out from the cover and sighed. If only….

"Oh, for…"

Warm, soft fingers wrapped around his hand and a thumb traced gently over the back of it. He heard the laptop click closed and felt the mattress dip as Ilsa sat down beside him on the bed. A second hand began stroking through his hair. Soothing, caressing, carefully and gently.

Mmmmmm… He could probably go…to…..sleep….now.


End file.
